Inside Insanity by Sarah Kate Daskal

With my fingers shaking, watching walls as they sway,

with sanity left breaking; my thoughts run away.

Panic that drives shock down my spine,

my uncontrollable defiance will not knock back in line.

I’ve a smirk that drips of a mental attack;

my body jerks, ending with a painful “swack”!

High off hallucinations harbored dangerously in my head.

But drops, almost drowsy, as drugs drip ‘till I’m almost brain-dead.

Laughter that bubbles out of nowhere, tumbling from my lips.

After being tied tight with care, one after the other slips, slips, slips.

Buried alive inside my own mind because, surely, I’ve been left behind.

Claw marks scatter the walls, bathroom stalls; worried voices sound from nurses down the halls.

I seem to twitch now and again with occasional shutters.

“This isn’t as bad as it could be”, I say in incoherent mutters.

The room doesn’t ever stay still and I’m forced to sit quiet as the air starts to chill.

This all while the doctor tells me to shove down more pills.

He tries making others better but it only really kills.

There’s pounding in my ears or maybe those are footfalls.

The noise sounds like rusted gears; No one here un-stalls.

The floor is filled with cleaned over grim.

The corners are filled with dirt.

There’s a clock on the wall that runs out of time.

My bed is covered with a ruined, shredded, blue shirt.

Buttons popped off; each the size of a dime.

Constant screaming echo around my head and all I see are shades of red.

Emotions that clog up my space. I’m too tired to chance for an empty place.

My body is cold yet I feel I’m on fire.

My eyes are shot open even when they tire.

My ears are accustomed to bumps in the night.

My room is completely pure, almost too white.

I’m cracking, shattered into pieces of glass,

that is heated and smoked ‘till it might as well be gas.

I’ve lost count of my nightmares and dreams that go wrong.

My days hold nothing but endless seconds that seem far too long.

And here I stand, tossed into the sky without a promise of a land.

I picture doors that don’t open and games you can never win.

People’s voices play over again and again..

I shout meaningless words and mutters that are unneeded.

And to think that a while back, I was conceited.

My face is torn and rubbed the wrong way.

Might have a horn, maybe two on display.

Demons walk in my mind and they leave me; left behind.

There’s really something to be said about the way thoughts work.

Are they considered dead if their thoughts all jerk?

Is it normal to be calm about living a life like ours’?